A Whaleman's Wife

by Frank Thomas Bullen

There is no need to enlarge upon the cause of Rube’s breakdown: if it be not palpable, it would be futile to explain.

Now he was torn with a raging conflict between his desires and his fears. Would Priscilla, after all, love him? Dare he make himself known without appearing to take any unmanly advantage of her helplessness, her utter need of some strong arm upon which to lean, whether she loved its owner or not so long as he was kind? Foolish—oh, yes, but quite natural where such faithful love as Rube’s reigns in a man’s heart, allied with such a distrust of self as he possessed. So he sat speaking to Priscilla such things as he found best to say with this backlash of harassing thoughts occupying one corner of his brain, and causing his eyes to shine with almost audible intensity. And presently lifting her head Priscilla’s gaze met his. For a moment she stared spellbound, then gasped, ‘Rube, it’s you, it’s YOU. O God, how good You are to me!’ And she bent towards him. All his fears were forgotten now, all his delicate self-tormenting diffidences vanished like breath-mist from a diamond, and he took her to his broad breast as a mother takes her infant, yearningly, hungrily.

The boat sailed on steadily into the blankness of the horizon, hunger and thirst, and dreadful outlook all forgotten, and in that happy hour each lived a lifetime of perfect joy, feeling that, come what might, the price to pay would not be grudged by them. Then, with a sigh of perfect content, they released one another, and Rube, feeling as if the strength of ten lay in his great frame, the wisdom of a dozen old sea-captains had accumulated in his brain, set about preparing for the night. He felt ready to wrestle with death itself for her as Jacob did with the angel, and with no more fear. And she followed him with her eyes as he busied himself about the boat and made ready their tiny meal. It was so sweet to feel once more the presence of unselfish love ready to do and dare all things for her. If the prospect of that wide sea-plain and their utter loneliness upon it, and the knowledge of their want of food, did for a moment give her a chilly feeling as of the approach of darkness, it was only momentary: one glance again at his bright, brave, calm face dispelled it, and brought instead the glow of perfect happiness—that is, as nearly perfect as a spirit clothed with flesh can feel.

They took their evening morsel of food, and uttered their evening prayers sitting hand in hand like little children, and with as little care or fear for the future as babes would have; they saw the bright sky darken into the violet of the night, while the gentle breeze held steadily and the boat still swept quietly forward to the east. Rube made Priscilla as comfortable as possible, sacrificing the jib’s usefulness for the night in order to protect her from the drenching dew, and as she laid her head down upon his coat rolled up for a pillow she gave a happy little sigh, murmured, ‘Thank you, dear,’ put up her face to be kissed as a tired child would out of its cot, and went instantly to sleep. Rube, noting this with intense satisfaction, composed himself upon the little deck aft, where he could look down upon Priscilla’s form, cast off the tiller, and, sitting with it under his arm, steered the boat steadily by the wind, still making, as nearly as he could judge by the stars, about a N.E. course. So through the night he sat, and dozed and woke alternately, never finding any alteration in the pose of that recumbent figure beneath him, never needing to do aught but just sit still and commune with his own thoughts. Strangely enough, do what he would he could not feel any apprehension for the future. Again and again he endeavoured to depict Priscilla and himself dying of hunger and thirst under the great solemn eye of heaven. Again and again he recalled his experiences in the Xiphias’ boat when all the bitterness of such a death was actually undergone, and the survivors were literally haled back from the dark entry of the grave. But no answering tremor came. Not even when he thought of his father and mother, those waiting, lonely figures sitting by their cosy but quiet fireside praying for him. Ah—that was it. The effectual, fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much, and whether he (and she) were to live or die, the peace which they were enjoying was undoubtedly due to that stream of real prayer ascending continually from the Eddy Homestead for the wanderers on unknown seas.

Therefore, in the morning, as daylight filled the sky, he faced the waking Priscilla with a countenance scarcely less bright. He drew her a bucket of water from overside, and recommended a sluicing of hands, and face, and neck, telling her that for the next half-hour it would be necessary for him to seat himself upon the bow and look steadfastly ahead in case in that clear dawn-light some vessel should be visible. And when such a toilet as she was able to make was completed, a word from her would bring him aft on the jump supposing his vigil were not over. She smiled gratefully, appreciatively; and met him presently, when in response to her call he came leaping aft, with a face so bright and rosy in spite of its thinness that an involuntary exclamation of wonder and admiration burst from him. Then they sat down to their frugal breakfast of water and biscuit—the fish was now too stale to eat, unless they were much more ravenous than at present—and for sauce they had reminiscences, all that Rube could remember on both sides of the blank, and all that she would recall of the doings of her dead husband. Then Rube, interesting Priscilla greatly, produced a hook and line which he had found stowed away in the ‘eyes’ of the boat. Carefully mounting a strongly smelling flying fish upon the hook, he trolled it astern, and in a few minutes succeeded in flinging into the boat a beautiful coryphena, or dolphin as the sailor calls it, of over ten pounds in weight. A portion of its flesh was cut off, and preserved for bait, a portion was carefully prepared for the next meal—they did not mind raw fish now—and the rest cleansed, and cut in strips, was laid in the sun to dry. And then they thanked God, ate another meal, and took courage.

On the fourth morning, although they had caught plenty of fish—for in those prolific seas the deep-sea denizens swarm—they drank their last drop of water. They had husbanded it carefully, and as at the outset there was but little over a gallon, it had lasted well. But even now they did not feel dismayed. Amid their terrible surroundings they were quite, or nearly quite, happy. That same strange assurance enjoyed by Rube had communicated itself to Priscilla, and together they discussed their meeting with the dear old people, and all the wonderments that people so entirely ignorant of what had been happening since their departure might naturally be supposed to entertain. They caught a skip-jack that day, a kind of vivacious mackerel, weighing about five pounds, and almost gaily munched its juicy flesh, which was so grateful to their already parching mouths.

Then, at the close of day, as usual—it seemed as if they had been thus associated for a lifetime—they prayed, kissed each other good-night, and Priscilla went to sleep, while Rube, as usual, sat erect and dozed. He was suddenly awakened by a great glare of light which dazzled him, proceeding from he knew not where. Next moment a clear voice sounded across the blackness following upon the blaze: ‘Boat ahoy!’ ‘Hallo,’ replied the deep tones of Rube. And then he saw the towering form of a ship, her green light glaring down at him as if in judicial inquiry just overhead. In fact, so close that only by putting his tiller hard over and bringing his boat up in the wind he escaped running into her with a crash. A side ladder was lowered, a couple of agile men glided down ropes into the boat, and in less than ten minutes Rube and Priscilla stood upon the deck of H.M.S. Alcestis, surveying ship, to whose splendid lookout they owed their rescue, and whose crew they had provided with a babblement of talk that was already surging throughout the remotest corners of the ship.

A cabin was immediately found for Priscilla, and the wardroom attendants could not sufficiently show their zeal and readiness to anticipate her every want. Rube, brought before a charming young-looking officer, was interrogated as to the how and why of this miraculous appearance in mid-Pacific in a boat, at night with one woman, but not before he had been offered and had refused a glass of grog and a cigar, and had accepted instead a plate of soup on the condition that some was first given to Priscilla.

So Reuben told his tale to the Captain of the man-o’-war, and whether the sentry at the door had his ear to the keyhole all the while or not I don’t know, but certain it is that almost as soon as Reuben retired for the rest of the night to a comfortable berth, having first visited Priscilla’s cabin and found her supremely happy, his story was the common property of the ship’s company, and he could have had any one of them shed blood, their own or another’s, for him. Of that, of course, there was no need, but anyone who knows the British man-o’-warsman, officer or seaman, needs not to be told that on arrival at Honolulu the paymaster of the Alcestis handed over to Reuben a sum of money sufficient for all reasonable expenses and fare to Vermont. Among those reasonable expenses was included the cost of a wedding at the English church, to which over one hundred of the Alcestis’ crew invited themselves, and made those proceedings vibrate with their own enthusiasm. I regret to say, though, that after escorting the newly wedded pair on board the mail steamer bound to ’Frisco, and cheering themselves hoarse as she departed, several of those gallant blue-jackets were found so full of spirits, animal and vegetable, that it became necessary for the preservation of the public peace to put them under lock and key, with serious results to themselves.

Reuben and his adoring wife had no more adventures. They were the heroes of the passengers and crew of the Golden Gate, and they had much ado to dodge the wily reporters in the Queen City of the West. Nor were they able to prevent the appearance of their histories (with such extraordinary verbal embellishments as the said reporters deemed it necessary to add) in the flamboyant local newspapers. But in due time they found themselves travelling together the quiet moss-grown paths between Boston and the home farm, and arriving at the door of the Eddy Homestead to be received as the latest and best gifts of a loving God to the faithful old couple who had never wavered in the long waiting for them, nor doubted that they would come. Also it seems an anti-climax to record their settling down to a happy, useful, and loving life in the old farm of Priscilla’s youth, kept in readiness for them by Rube’s father against the day of their return.